Fake
by england-has-swag
Summary: AU. Arthur Kirkland is a rich, lonely man. Though, he has a reason for his tendency to push people away. He has a secret that no one knows, and he can't risk letting anyone find out. ...whoops.
1. Chapter 1

His name was Arthur Kirkland. He had been born in England, and had spent most of his childhood in London. However, he had moved away to the U.S. for schooling. He lived a proud life now; one of a writer. Though it was thought by most he preferred solitude, he actually did enjoy receiving company. This rarely ever happened. For this man had a secret that no one knew. It was why he had to stray from becoming close with anyone. Everyone; his neighbors, colleagues, had tried to break through, but just when it seemed as though they might have found the Englishman as a friend, he shut them out completely. It hurt him every time, but he couldn't let anyone know the reason why he was so intent to keep to himself. He didn't know what they would do if they found out. Things changed when he met a young man by the name of Alfred F. Jones.

Arthur was sitting at his desk, on his laptop, typing up his latest tale of fiction. It wasn't all he ever wrote. He also had stories of philosophies published, as well, though he preferred this work. It came so naturally to him compared to other things. His imagination was vast. It was why he would occasionally see things that others deemed as hallucinations. Fairies, unicorns, and other mythological creatures bothered him constantly. It was only a few years ago that he had learned he could make a profit from the stories these "hallucinations" would tell him.

All his books were grim. As contradictory as it would seem, these creatures that he would see, though spun of fable and happy tales were actually dark. Now, that didn't mean they couldn't be pleasant company… He did consider them friends, after all. They were the only things he ever had continuous contact with, so of course he would consider them companions. Young adults and older teenagers found his work fascinating. He, himself, would sometimes ponder about the interest of his own books.

Today, he was journaling a story a fairy had told him a while back. It was a slight hassle to remember all the details, but because this was considered a work of fiction anyway, he could slip in a few white lies for more interest. This day in particular seemed slightly different from most, though. His thoughts kept slipping, and he found himself losing focus constantly. With a small sigh, the blonde decided that it would be best to give the writing a rest for now. Shortly after this was thought, his doorbell chimed.

Because he lived in luxury, Kirkland had nothing but the finest of most things, including doorbells. His was wired through the house so that it may be heard in every room. It was convenient considering how large his house really was. The sound of low bells echoed throughout the house. In a way, he hated that doorbell. Each bounce of sound off of the wall reminded him of how empty his home truly was.

The Brit got up slowly, in no hurry. He never had unexpected visitors, and this was no exception. Maybe that was why he had been sidetracked. He knew he'd be receiving a package today. He leisurely made his way from the study, knowing already that if it was in fact the delivery man, then it would be the same one it had always been. Any time he had someone come remotely near his house, he always made sure to hire people who kept to themselves.

Having a large house was rather inconvenient sometimes, though. His study was far from his front door, which made his walk a little tiresome. He had assumed that, as always, David (or Dave as he liked to be called) his delivery man, would wait patiently until he got to the door as he always had since the first time he'd visited the Briton's house. However, he was surprised by his doorbell sounding off once more. One might say he could be considered irritated. He quickened his pace.

Arthur made it to the door by the time the ringing started up again. "I'm coming, damn it!" he shouted, opening the door. He was unsurprised that the man standing in front of him wasn't his usual delivery man. Instead, he was face to face with an impatient looking teen, who was currently checking his wrist for the time, though he lacked a watch. It was simply an act to convey his irritation with how long it took Arthur to get to the door. "Where's Dave?" he questioned immediately, nearly glaring at the stranger.

Unfortunately, the chiming of bells was still sounding loudly throughout the house, which made it difficult for his words to be heard. He sighed in growing irritation, and waited a few seconds until the doorbell stopped. "Where is my usual delivery man?" he repeated, annoyance clear in his tone.

Alfred, who had been waiting for what felt like twenty minutes for this damn rich guy to get off of his ass and answer the door, managed a brilliant fake smile. In reality, he had many more deliveries he had to make after this, and this man was overcomplicating his job. He'd be plenty pissed if he returned home hours later than usual just because the Englishman had put him behind schedule. "Dave called off sick. I'm Alfred F. Jones, at your service!" he replied, that cheesy smile still glued on his face.

Arthur looked completely unamused. "May I ask what your hurry is, lad?" he practically spat. "I'm not in the greatest of shape to be walking from one end of this damned house to the other and back again, so excuse me if I'm a little slow. I happened to be in the middle of something. My job," he explained.

The other resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yeah… Well, I'm doing my job. You're making it a little slow." His smile had faded, and he was getting the clipboard from under his arm so that he could hand it to the man.

Arthur _did_ roll his eyes at that. He didn't really have to worry about not ticking this man off. He wasn't the one with money and a job on the line. He snatched the pen and board and quickly signed for the package, muttering a few words under his breath. "…brat…" seemed to be the only audible one.

The brunette now had to resist the urge to glare at his customer. He bent to pick up the box he was to deliver, already upset with the condition that it was in. His company prided themselves on their ability to get packages to their customers safely, and this box was not in the greatest condition. It looked as if it had been banging around in the back of a truck for days… which it probably had. Actually, it was in such poor condition, that its bottom ripped open when Alfred picked it up, spilling the contents of the cardboard container all over this man's porch. The American's face went pale.

Arthur stood with his mouth slightly open. He was in shock at the moment, but only a few short seconds later, he felt rage boiling within him. "You bloody incompetent, lowlife arsehole!" he yelled, still gaping at the contents of the box that had spilled all over the ground. Gold colored gears of all sorts lay on his porch now, and he was too enraged to think that the other might be curious as to why he'd ordered these. "Do they give any random bloke on the street those fucking uniforms?!" he spat, continuing his rant as he bent down to quickly pick up the gears that looked as if they were meant for a clock of some sort.

Though the man hadn't exactly treated Alfred kindly up to this point, the American still felt guilty about what had just happened. Though it wasn't really his fault, he couldn't help but feel that some of the blame inflicted on him by the screaming Englishman was accurate. He should've grabbed the box by the bottom. "I-I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I'll help you clean this up… and get these inside, if you'd like," he offered, bent down along with the other to help pick up the gears. At the moment, he was too worried about the mistake he'd just made to wonder about the brightly colored gears.

Arthur realized in the middle of his harsh words that without anything to put the metal objects in, the cleanup effort would go to waste. He took a deep breath to calm himself, then carefully stood. "It's… fine," he muttered tiredly. "I suppose it wasn't entirely your fault." His voice had gotten lower, and softer, as well as quieting down. He rubbed his forehead in obvious distress at the situation. "I'll go get something to put these in… and, yes, it would be very helpful if you'd bring these inside once we've finished picking them up."

Alfred was mildly surprised with the man's sudden mood shift. Not that he was complaining. He simply hadn't expected it. He nodded, and watched the man leave before turning his attention back to the gears he was currently picking up. His brows furrowed and his head tilted slightly to the side as he examined one of them. What on earth could Kirkland need these for? Maybe he owned some type of strange, antique grandfather clock that would only work with certain gears. Not what he would do with money like Arthur had… But, hey, the man could spend how he pleased, right?

Arthur had quickly returned with a brand new box. He had plenty from orders like this before when his property had been taken care of better. "I thought I asked them to mark it as fragile…" he murmured to himself. If any of the gears had been dented, they would lose their purpose, and he wouldn't be able to use them. There were perks to ordering the things you needed, such as never leaving your house. However, this situation was one of the downsides to it. He set the box on the ground, and then kneeled down to begin picking up the gears once more.

Alfred smiled nervously as he helped gently set the gears in the box. "Hey, look… I am really sorry about this," he said softly, glancing up apologetically. He hoped that none of the metal rings had rolled off of the deck. With that thought, a small twinge of guilt ate at him. They had the spilled contents of the box picked up in no time, though.

Arthur shook his head. "I already told you that it's fine, lad," he said, his tone taking on irritation once more. He stood and brushed off the knees of his pants, grimacing at the new scuff marks that had appeared. He turned to walk away with a short, "Follow me."

It was obvious that Kirkland expected Alfred to carry the box inside. With the blame still hanging over his head, the brunette didn't object. He stood, not worrying in the slightest about the condition of his uniform. His clipboard was resting on top of the new box as he trailed the other inside. "What are these things for, anyway?" he asked as he was led into a bedroom.

"Set them on the bed," Arthur sighed, then glanced back with a thoughtful look. "…a clock. What else would I have gears for? I don't enjoy leaving the comfort of my home, so I order most things I need," he explained. Even with his words sounding slightly arrogant, his voice lacked the irritation that it had held earlier.

Alfred did as he was told and watched as the other sat on the bed. He shook his head dismissively. "I just wondered…" he trailed off as he glanced back at the box. "Anyway, I'll get outta your hair," he said with a tense chuckle. He could only hope he wouldn't lose his job over this. It would be unexpected to lose his job over something so small, but Arthur Kirkland seemed like a valued customer of the shipping company he worked for. It would be bad if he had done anything to make the Englishman stop his services with them. He turned to leave without a second thought about the man's clock.

As Arthur heard the door shut, he breathed a small sigh of relief. That had been quite a stressful encounter. Interactions like that was one of the reasons he avoided going in public as much as he could. He decided that now was as good of a time as any to get started on his small project.

He unbuttoned his shirt, and carefully removed the wooden plate that was his chest. He hated this. Doing this reminded him that he wasn't alive. The gears inside were ticking softly just as they would normally. A few were rusting, which was why he needed the box of replacements. As he fiddled with the gears in his chest, taking the rusted ones out, he came to the thought that often ran through his mind. What did it mean to be alive?

In a technical sense, he was not alive, and never had been. He had no blood, and no real heart that pumped it. His body consisted of wood and metal, not flesh and organs. At the same time, he could think, talk, see, interact, move, walk, and even feel emotion. He lacked the ability to cry, but he still felt sad sometimes. He even had imagination. More than most did, actually.

He slipped the new gears into place, and things began running slightly better than they had before. He put his head in his hands in exasperation. He tired of this. His breath stopped when he heard the creak of a floorboard, and his head slowly lifted to meet eyes with Alfred, who was standing in the doorway to the bedroom with wide eyes as he stared at the Englishman's open chest, full of gears. His mouth hung agape.

"I f-forgot my clipboard…" was all he managed to stutter out.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur slowly stood, anxiety eating at him. This delivery man was the first person to ever see him as he really was; a living machine. His chest plate was still carefully sitting on the bed. The Englishman's mouth formed a slight frown, but at the moment, he said nothing. Instead, he grabbed the chest plate and gently fixed it back into place. He knew that there was no use in hiding himself now... Alfred had already seen. It was more so that he'd feel somewhat comfortable again.

Alfred's face was white, as if he'd seen a ghost. What in God's name had he just witnessed? He was compelled to run; to run away from this house and never come back. But curiosity was urging him to stay. It almost always got the best of him in situations that would be best left alone. Like this one. Well, curiosity did kill the cat, but it tromped his fear of death. Not that he feared death in this situation. More that he was afraid of something he didn't understand, as people usually were. After about a minute of them both standing there in silence, staring each other down, he spoke. "...what are you...?" It was the first question that came to his mind after the shock of seeing what he just had.

The writer's look of unease shifted to his usual expression of irritation. "I'm fake. Are you too much of an idiot to figure that out? I'm wooden and filled with gears. Now if that answers your question, would you please leave? I'm not too fond of having strangers peeking around inside of me," he practically spat. He was nervous as Hell, but he'd never had much of a problem hiding his emotions. Considering he wasn't an actual living being, it wasn't hard to fathom why.

Alfred shook his head. He was still a little shell shocked. He shook his head. "N-No... I just wondered... I've never seen anything like you..." he said, staring at Arthur with a shining interest. He couldn't help but have more questions, and being who he was, he'd want to stick around and find some answers.

Kirkland held a glare towards the American. "Of course you haven't. So what? Are you going to do? Dissect me and see how I tick?" he questioned. There was no pun intended.

The other couldn't help but smile a little at the bad pun, even if Arthur hadn't meant it that way. "N-Nah, bro. I wouldn't do that. It's just... It's kinda cool and all..." he trailed off. He looked away, hating how increasingly awkward the situation was becoming.

Arthur couldn't control his look of surprise at Alfred's reply. However, he quickly recovered with a blank expression. "Didn't I ask you nicely to leave? I have dogs in the back if that's an issue." He wasn't entirely sure how to react to this. Not since he'd been created had someone seen his insides. Maybe what he was feeling was relief. He'd kept this secret his entire life, which meant secluding himself, and putting up walls, not just physically, but emotionally, as well. Maybe this could change that. Either way, he needed some time to think about what had just occurred. Which meant this man would have to leave. Now.

Alfred quickly shook his head. "No, no... That won't be a problem. Just," he started, then quickly made his way across the room to grab his clipboard off of the bed. "...have to grab this," he said. Then, he turned, and made his way out of the room. At the door, he paused a moment and looked back. "Must be lonely sometimes," he said in what seemed to be a comforting voice. "I kind of feel bad for you, ya know?" And with that, he left, hastily making his way out of the large house.

Arthur let go a small sigh. He collapsed back onto the bed. What was he going to do? What if Alfred told someone? Maybe it was dangerous to be so rude to the lad after he'd learned his secret. The American could surely use it against him, after all. With a shaky breath, he decided that it would be best to kiss the man's ass for a little while until he was sure things smoothed over.

A few days after the incident with Kirkland, Alfred found himself delivering to the same house. He was fairly surprised. He wasn't even filling in for Dave. Apparently Mr. Kirkland had requested him. The box he held today felt relatively light, and he wondered what was in it. It might be something for his... inside parts. He gently shook the box like a child shaking their Christmas present to try and see what was in it. It made no sound, and nothing rattled. If he didn't know better, he'd say it was empty. He walked up to the porch and rang the doorbell, making sure to wait patiently this time instead of continuously knocking, and annoying the Englishman.

Arthur was well aware that his package would be arriving today. He'd been looking forward to this day ever since he'd ordered his product. It had nothing to do with what was inside the box, but instead, who was delivering it. He'd made sure to request that Alfred handle all his deliveries from now on.

He was dressed nicer than usual. Sometimes he would wear the same clothes for weeks. It wasn't as if he sweat, or produced oil, or used the restroom. He did, however, sleep. Close to it, anyway. He could shut down for the night. He didn't do it every night, but it definitely helped reset his body and get it in working order again. When his clothing got dirty, he'd simply change it. It was a rare thing that it did, though. Usually it was from an oil stain when he was oiling his chest cavity.

He had been waiting at the door for about an hour, though time seemed to pass quickly for him. His mind would wander, and he could just sit there, lost in thought for days. It happened more frequently than he'd like to admit. When the doorbell chimed through the house, he jumped in surprise, then smiled nervously before opening the door. As expected, Jones was standing before him in his delivery uniform, looking just as nervous as he, himself, felt. "Hello," he said, slightly too quickly from his excitement.

Alfred made sure to put on a dazzling smile when Arthur opened the door. It surprised him a little when he found that it wasn't faked. The man, or whatever he was, made him anxious, and gave him butterflies. He assumed he could chalk that up to curiosity and nerves. He'd had crushes before, though, and this seemed fairly similar. "Hey!" he said, enthusiastically. He held the package out in front of him, his clipboard lying on top with a pen. "Got your delivery right here."

Arthur nodded, making sure to mimic the man's bright smile. For simply being a machine, he felt too giddy. He stepped aside, gesturing inside. "Why don't you come in?" he asked. He'd planned this ever since the other had left the other day.

The American looked surprised, as he was. He hadn't been expecting an invite inside. He laughed a little, not moving from where he stood. "I really shouldn't. I have another delivery after this," he explained. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk with the other. He'd just prefer to keep his job.

The blonde smiled. "Don't worry about it. I'll call your manager and have it delayed until tomorrow. That is, if you'd like to stay for the evening so that we can chat. ...I'll answer any questions you might have," he added, hoping that would entice the other into staying for a few hours.

Alfred didn't know how he could turn that down. He quickly nodded. "Y-Yeah, sure." He went inside and stood in what must have been a living room. The entire room was black and white. He hadn't really noticed it the last time he'd been here, but it seemed to only be a theme for this particular room. Because, as he followed Kirkland deeper into the large house, the themes of each room changed. It was actually rather interesting seeing the variations between them all.

Arthur led the other through the house, making his way towards the kitchen. "I'm sorry for how I acted when you were over last. It was terribly rude of me," he apologized. They quickly made it to the kitchen, which wasn't too far from the front door, thankfully. It had white tile flooring, marble counter tops, and stainless steal appliances. He barely ever came in this room, but he'd made sure to clean it before Alfred's visit. The day before there had been a thin layer of dust coating everything. "Would you like something to drink while I phone your boss?" he questioned. "I have soda, several juices, sparkling and regular, wine, and champagne," he listed off. "Oh, and of course, bottled water."

When they arrived at the kitchen, Alfred stood awkwardly, not sure of what to do with the package he held. He opted for placing it on the counter, and smiled when the other didn't object. He wasn't surprised at the assortment of drinks listed off. It was what he would expect a wealthy person like Arthur to have. He smiled, replacing his look of wonderment at how large the kitchen was. It looked freshly cleaned, as well. "Water's just fine. Thanks."

With that, Arthur grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, and put it on the counter. "You can have a seat if you'd like," he said, gesturing towards the bar stools lying behind the counter. Then, he went into the room over to make his phone call. He thought it rude to make calls directly in front of guests.

While Arthur was gone, Alfred took the opportunity to sit down and take small sips from his water. This was strange. It was all very strange. This was the last place he'd expected to be invited back to. Not that he was complaining.

Arthur smiled as he hung up the phone. As expected, there would be no problems with Alfred spending the evening at his manor. He went back into the kitchen and sat next to the American, turned towards him on his bar stool.

Alfred looked over at the other as he walked in. It was strange little things, like the way Arthur didn't feel uncomfortable being so close to him, or that he didn't radiate body heat, or even that the man barely ever took a breath, that were subtle hints that the Englishman was not normal. Not that he minded. He'd been glad to come here, if only to quell his curiosity. After a moment, he blinked. "...aren't you going to have anything to drink?"

Arthur relaxed a little and laughed. "No... I don't drink or eat. I run on the energy of batteries. Whenever I feel tired, I shut down and plug myself in." He lifted his shirt a little, then clicked a small round button in his side. A plug-sized hatch opened, and revealed an outlet. He felt nervous showing Alfred these things, even if the man already knew his secret. "I've always wondered about the pleasures of food and beverages."

Alfred stared at the blonde's side with interest. He touched the place lightly. "Sorry..." he muttered. "I guess that was kind of a dumb question to ask." After all, Arthur had said before that he was made of wood. That meant he probably couldn't deal with water very well. "It's cold," he commented, running his hand over the other's side.

The blonde smiled and nodded. "Yes... I'm made of mostly wood. Areas like my face and my joints are covered with synthetic skin, but it's uncomfortable, so I choose not to get it put in anywhere else. My skeletal structure is a combination of metal and wood, so I'm colder than just wood would be. On top of that is a layer of hardwood, and over that is a layer of plywood. It makes the outside a little soft," he explained patiently, and almost with... excitement. He'd never been able to share this with anyone before, and it was rather nice to finally have someone to talk to. He closed the lid on his side and put his shirt down. "Obviously, the inside is hallow, and made of gears, as you saw earlier, and my joints are made of metal balls with notches on them that connect my appendages and fingers. I have a relatively normal skeletal structure."

Alfred's eyes were alight with interest and excitement. He couldn't help but be fascinated by what the other was telling him. As the Englishman spoke about his face, he reached a hand up to gently touch it. Indeed, it did feel more like skin, and look more like it, than his midsection had. He nodded, showing that he was listening intently. "What about in your head? Or... do you not know?"

"Ah... My head is just a more complicated version of my chest. A lot of gears. I haven't really figured out how it works, but I'm a little afraid to venture too far. I don't want to break anything, after all. It's amazing that I work in the first place," he said with a small chuckle. He was relaxing a lot more than when Alfred had first come in. This was going far better than he'd expected. Even at the small touches to his body, he didn't move, or shrug away. It felt great to have someone so fascinated by him. "Though I don't have to eat, drink, shower, or use the toilet, my body requires a lot more maintenance than the average human's body." He paused. "Even now, my fingertips and toes are cracked from usage and water damage," he said, holding up one of his hands for the other to look at.

Alfred took the Englishman's one hand in his own hands and brought it close to his face to examine the damage. He blinked, then smiled brightly. His fingertips were dented with many cracks spidering through them. "I used to work with wood all the time!" he said. "It looks like you've never put any sort of water seal on it, have you? Most of the cracks are from water damage, and if you went over the problemed areas with some, then it should make those parts more durable!" he exclaimed excitedly. Ever since he was a small child, he'd loved helping people. So in this situation, the brunette couldn't help but get excited as he learned he could help Arthur in some way.

The Englishman had to hold back chuckles as the other got excited. Really, it was cute, and sweet. "I suppose I know what to order offline next," he said with a small chuckle.

Alfred let Arthur's hand go and pulled back, still smiling. "Oh, yeah. That reminds me. What did you order?" He still wanted to know, after all. He glanced at the container that was said order.

Arthur would be blushing if he could. He reached over and tore the tape off the box. "Well... There's no point in lying about it... Bubble wrap," he said, taking the product out. In total, it was only a few sheets.

Alfred burst into laughter. "Seriously...? Bubble wrap?" It occurred to him that the only reason Arthur had ordered something was because the other had wanted him over to visit. "You know," he began with a smirk, "you could've just invited me over."

Arthur's eyes went wide. "I d-did not order that just so that you'd v-visit," he said, a bit too quickly. He began nervously popping the bubble wrap. "I happen to like popping bubble wrap enough to order it..." he lied, staring down at the plastic sheet in his hands.

The American simply rolled his eyes in dismissal, not believing a word of it. "Whatever." He perked up a little. "Do you have some sort of fake heart?" he questioned. "I wanted to ask that. Last time I didn't get a great look." He reached over to grab a sheet of bubble wrap for himself to fiddle with, staring at his hands. "Sorry if I'm prying."

The blond shook his head and smiled, still looking at the bubble wrap. "No, it's fine. I don't have any fake organs. My entire chest cavity is made up of gears. It's a very complicated system. I'm not entirely sure of how it works yet, actually," he said sheepishly.

Alfred looked up. "Do you think... I could feel it? Just like... the outside of your chest? I... I can hear it ticking. The rhythm, I mean. I'm just kind of... curious." A light pink was dusting the bottom of his jaw and all the way down his neck.

Arthur was a little surprised at the question, but he nodded. "I don't see why that would be a problem..." he muttered bashfully. He looked up at Alfred as the other carefully, cautiously reached out to place a hand on his chest.

Alfred's breath hitched. Aside from the pleasant coolness of his chest, there was a faint, steady beat of the gears ticking within him. It closely resembled the beating of a heart, and the American couldn't help but be slightly amazed.

Arthur was staring at Alfred as his chest was touched. After a moment, he reached his hand out to place it on Alfred's chest. When he did, the brunette looked up from his chest, and his eyes settled on the Englishman's face. The beat underneath his hand wasn't as constant as the ticking of his own chest. It was a fluttering feeling.

"It's... warm."


	3. Chapter 3

It only took a few moments for each of them to pull their hands away in slight embarrassment. The tips of Alfred's ears were a light shade of pink. Arthur would look the same if he had been capable of it. The awkwardness didn't stem from the intimate moment itself. It came from the fact that this was only their second time meeting, and they'd had such moment.

Alfred coughed awkwardly into his hand before laughing and nervously rubbing his hands on his uniform pants to keep his hands busy. It gave him less to think about. So many things were going on through his mind right now. Finally, after looking down at the ground for a few pregnant moments, he looked back up at the Englishman.

Arthur was staring at the American with a bright curiosity. It was interesting how his eyes gleamed with life when he seemed he lacked what was vital to live. He placed his hand on his own chest. "I…" he started, not entirely sure how to get out what he was attempting to say. "…we feel different…" he started. "…but the same." With a blank look from the other, it seemed like further explanation was needed. "I'm colder, and the beat has a more steady rhythm. You're warmer, and the beat changes. It's…  
…wow." Not a very creative response from a person who was supposed to be a great fiction writer. Though, for once, he couldn't think of the right words to explain how he was thinking.

Alfred shook his head after a moment. "No… I think I get it," he murmured. His gaze had gone back to his lap. This was so different from anything he'd ever experienced. Well… who would expect anything such as this to happen? Even as he avoided the other's gaze, a small smile remained on his lips.

After what seemed like sitting forever in silence, Alfred was forced to look up again as he heard a small thud right in front of him. He looked up with wide, startled eyes to see Arthur with his head down on the counter, unmoving. Thinking of nothing else to do, he gently nudged the other with his hand. "Hey… Dude…?" he whispered. When that elicited no response, he began to worry. "A-Arthur?" he questioned, sounding more panicked.

He shifted the Englishman so that he could see his face. The man's eyes were closed. The American's breath hitched, and his adrenaline spiked. He leaned down closely to see if he could hear the telltale ticking of the other's body. He had to listen hard, but it was there. So much more faint than earlier, though.

Alfred was panicking even more now. What could be wrong with the wooden man? After about two minutes of thinking, the realization came to him. He firmly picked Arthur up, and quickly went scrambling around the house to try and find his bedroom. He assumed that's where the man would keep whatever he plugged himself into.

It took nearly fifteen minutes of running through the house to find the master bedroom. Its décor didn't really live up to its name. Yes, it was large, and it had a large bed… But to be honest, it looked like the plainest room in the entire house. Everything was a dull blue. Nothing was decorated. There were no elegant lamps, or a beautiful bedframe as Alfred would've expected it to have. The only thing it did have that was rather impressive was a large window overlooking the forest behind the house itself.

The American felt his heart ache slightly at that. How many nights did the man spend staring out this window, alone?  
…how many nights did he spend alone? Gently, so very gently, he set the other down on the large bed. Then, he glanced around before finding a car battery lying on the other side of the bed. He knelt down next to it, carefully untangling the cord. For a man who didn't need much maintenance, Arthur certainly didn't take very good care of himself. Maybe he didn't feel the need to anymore. Again, Alfred's heart hurt for the man.

He finally got the cord untangled, then climbed up onto the bed and lifted Arthur's shirt, attempting to find the small button that he'd seen the other press earlier. Once he found that, the secret hatch in his side opened again, and Alfred plugged him in. He relaxed a little.

The American felt like it was intruding to stay, but he also didn't want to leave Arthur alone in his condition. This may have not been the right solution, and he wanted to be there in case anything happened. In a way, he felt responsible for the Brit. It might have been because he felt no one else was.

He laid next to the other on his back, staring at the plain white ceiling. He wondered if Arthur had ever had anyone care for him, or that had been there for him. It must have been hard to be alone for your entire life. …to know that you could never have real family, or friends. Just because you were different. Because you were fake. After a while of pondering this, Alfred dozed off. It probably wasn't the best thing to do, with Arthur having just "passed out" and all, but he was exhausted from a long day of work.

Hours later, Arthur opened his eyes. It was dark out by then, and Alfred was still sleeping. At first, the wooden man was confused, as he didn't remember how he'd ended up here. Then, it clicked. He hadn't charged up in a while. Lately, he'd been neglecting himself. Testing his own boundaries, almost. This time he'd apparently taken it too far. He'd known he was forgetting something when going through his mental checklist before he'd invited the delivery man back over.

Actually, he was lucky Alfred had been there and knew what was wrong. If he'd been alone, he might have never gotten plugged back in. He decided to leave the plug in for now. It wasn't like he didn't need it.

He rolled over onto his side to look at the sleeping man. He hadn't seen a human sleeping since he'd last left his creator in London. That had been a long time ago. He silently watched Alfred sleep, still fascinated by every move he made. Yes, humans were obviously not that interesting, but he hadn't been so close up to one since he'd left London.

He was feeling better already. The battery had him energized, and fully functioning again. He simply chose to stare at the other man until he woke.

Alfred woke up when the sun started shining through the windows. Immediately, he believed he'd be late for work. He shot out of the bed, jumping slightly when he saw Arthur sit up out of the corner of his eye. A quick glance at the clock calmed him down. The sun was apparently just rising. He had plenty of time. Then again, his house was a while away from Arthur's. He turned to the other with a small smile. "I'm glad you're okay," he said. Then, he paused. "Would it be too much trouble to use your shower?" he questioned. He had nowhere near enough time to go back to his own house, and he wanted to look, at the very least, presentable for the customers.

Arthur was surprised, to say the least, when the man beside him quickly shot out of bed. The Brit sat up with his legs hanging over the edge, the curious look in his gaze not absent. He quickly nodded. "Yes, that's fine. There are cleaning products in the shower." He didn't need them, and they were mostly for show. That didn't mean Alfred couldn't use them, though.

The American nodded. He liked it here, with Arthur, and he felt a little bad about leaving. He knew that as soon as he left, the loneliness would overtake the house once more. Even now, with the two of them, the big house felt so empty. "'kay, thanks," he murmured, then went to the master bathroom that was connected to the bedroom. He made haste of washing up, hoping that he could snag something to eat before he left if Arthur had anything.

The wooden man waited patiently on the bed for Alfred to return. He, too, didn't want the other to go. Well, more so, he hoped that the man would visit again. He'd been alone for a long time, and he could handle it. He just hoped he didn't have to handle it for too long. He lost his train of thought once the bathroom door opened again. Alfred was already dressed and ready, and it made Arthur's heart sink a little. Maybe the other was in a hurry to get out because he didn't want to see him anymore. Maybe he'd been under the wrong impression when he'd thought Alfred might have enjoyed his company. He was reassured that was not true when Alfred smiled brightly at him.

"Hey, you have anything I can munch on before I have to hit the road?" the American questioned. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day," he said with a loud laugh.

Arthur couldn't help but crack a smile at that. He nodded. "I'm not sure what, though. There will probably be mostly canned goods… I don't eat, so when I get food for show, or for when I have guests, I try to get things that won't spoil quickly. I don't have guests often." He led the other downstairs and began rummaging through the cupboards. After a few minutes, he laughed nervously, feeling a little bad that he had no variety for the other to choose from. "...all I seem to have is a few kinds of soup..." he admitted, grabbing a few cans and placing them on the counter where Alfred's bottled water from the night before still rested.

Alfred shook his head with a wide smile. "Soup sounds good to me," he said, enthusiastically. He looked through the containers and settled on the chicken noodle. That had always been his favorite when it came to soup. It was a classic, after all. Or, that's what he thought, at least.

While he was deciding, Arthur had gotten out a can opener, a bowl, and a spoon for him to use. "Ah, the microwave is over there," he said with a smile. Despite his previous doubts, he was thinking that Alfred had a good time with him. It was nice to have had company for the first time in a long time.

Alfred made his soup and sat at the counter to eat it. As he was eating, he casually remarked, "This is a big house. ...it must get lonely." He didn't always say the right things.

"Yes, it does..." was all Arthur replied with. It was sad that even Alfred could notice that. His smile, that had dropped at the man's comment, returned. "Even for a machine."

Alfred shook his head. "Just because you're made of wood doesn't mean you can't feel alone," he said seriously. "I'd be happy to come again sometime." He paused. "...if you want, anyway..." he added. Though he did want to see Arthur again, for the man was quite interesting, he didn't want to bother him. He knew the other had work to do, and a house to keep up, though he assumed the Englishman had servants for that.

The blonde's smile brightened considerably. "Y-Yes," he stuttered out excitedly. "That would be nice."

They sat alone in silence for a while before Alfred spoke up. "Hey, Arthur?" he began. "Do you dream?" He'd thought of it last night when he was lying in the other's bed. He supposed it wouldn't surprise him whether the question was yes or no.

The question took the Brit by surprise. "Yes, actually," he murmured. "I dreamt when you plugged me in last night. I think it has to do with excess energy. My brain working to quickly, I would assume," he said, attempting to explain his theory.

Alfred nodded after a moment. "Yeah. That makes sense," he agreed, eating a few more spoonfuls of soup and sipping at the water bottle. This was nice for him, too. He hadn't sat down and had a relaxing chat with anyone in a while. Sometimes he felt too busy. "What did you dream about?"

Arthur smiled a little, his eyes looking quite contrastingly sad. "I dream about the past. Always about things that have already happened. Sometimes about how it might have been better if it were different," he said.

The other felt slightly guilty about killing the nice atmosphere they'd had. Though, he hadn't been expecting such an answer, and it was as he was finding everything with Arthur... fascinating. He didn't know what to say, so they just sat in silence as he finished his soup. Soon after that, it was decided that he should be on his way, and so he was, and the mechanical man was left alone once more. Though, something had changed. Arthur didn't feel as alone.


	4. Chapter 4

((Sorry it took so long! And sorry that it's so short ;u; I needed to find a way to make the transition into where I want it to go. Reviews are appreciated. Happy reading!))

It had been a couple of weeks since the last time Alfred had seen Arthur. He felt slightly guilty, but he'd been busy with work and school. At the moment, he was sitting at the counter in the kitchen, working on his calculus homework. His apartment was far smaller than the Englishman's manor. He'd thought about having the other over, but he was a little embarrassed. He felt as if he had nothing to show him. It also didn't help that he had a roommate. Well, a part time student wasn't able to pay the bills easily.

He was staring at the sixth problem on the page when the door opened. "Hey," he greeted, half-heartedly, trying to focus on the work in front of him. He had to assume that it was Matthew, his roommate.

Matthew was holding a few bags of groceries as he walked in the apartment. He looked troubled, and said nothing until he put the bags down and began putting the groceries away. "Alfred? We need to talk about the rent..." he murmured. He had been dreading this conversation all day. It was inevitable, though. The other was almost three months behind on his rent, and Matthew had been cutting him some slack. He simply couldn't afford to pay the full rent, though. It was why he needed a roommate in the first place.

Alfred's eyes widened at the soft words, and he put down his pencil to turn around in his chair. "I-I already told you, I'll have the two months I owe you paid in full as soon as I get the money," he quickly defended. He felt bad about not keeping up on his half of the rent, but he simply couldn't afford it with his job.

The Canadian sighed. "It's three months now..." he mumbled. "That's not what matters, though. I can't afford to have you living here anymore. I found another roommate a few days ago. You have until the end of the week to gather your things and leave." It was definitely a shame. He didn't want to do this, but the American had left him with no choice.

Alfred looked at Matthew with pleading eyes. He already knew the man's mind was made up, though. "Where am I supposed to go? Come on, Mattie... You know I don't have a home to go back to..." he begged.

"I'm sorry, Alfred. That's not my problem." That had been incredibly hard for him to say. He liked Alfred. He'd known the other for years. That didn't change their financial situation, though.

Alfred frowned. "Fine," he muttered in an angry tone. Really, he was only angry at himself. It was his fault for not paying the rent. He slammed his book closed, and stormed off to his room to begin packing his things.

Arthur was surprised to get a phone call so early on a Saturday. He flipped open his phone. "Hello?" he greeted, not having recognized the number. He had actually been sitting on the couch watching the news.

"Hey, it's Alfred," he heard in a slightly wavering voice. ...had the lad been crying? Arthur's brows furrowed. He had no idea how the other even knew his phone number.

"...are you all right?" he questioned, worried that something was wrong. Why else would he be calling?

There was a sniffle. "Yeah... Well, actually... I need a place to stay..." Alfred murmured. "...you were the only person I could think to call..." He sniffled again.

The Englishman blinked. Well, that was certainly a surprise. Even with the other being in the situation he was in, Arthur wouldn't have thought that he would be the first one called. He assumed that the teen had at least a few friends that he could rely on. After all, it must have been easy to make friends when you weren't forced to distance yourself from people for your own safety. Apparently that was not the case. He smiled, though he felt slightly guilty for it considering how upset Alfred sounded. "I have no problem with you staying here if you'd like," he said, probably a little too quickly. He was bad at hiding his enthusiasm. "I could use the company, anyway."

"Really?" Alfred sounded surprised. He hadn't thought that Arthur would be okay with him moving in after they'd only spoke a few times. His mood immediately brightened, and there was an excited tone to his voice. "C-Cool! I'll finish packing, and I can be there by the end of the day," he explained. He had already moved a lot of his things into his old pickup truck. It used to be his father's, actually. He didn't have many things he considered necessary to bring with him.

Arthur put his hand over his mouth to hide his grin, as if the other could see him. "Okay," he said softly. "That sounds great. I suppose I'll talk to you later, then."

Alfred quickly nodded. "Yeah; bye," he said, happily, hanging up when the Englishman said goodbye, as well. He was grinning from ear to ear now, though his face was still puffy and red from crying. He had to get packing.


	5. Chapter 5

((Sorry it took so long to write this. I was in the hospital for a while. Enjoy^^; ))

Alfred pulled into the ridiculously long driveway of the manor. He'd packed the rest of his things as fast as he could, not caring if he left the things he considered unimportant, like his toothbrush, behind. After all, he could always get another toothbrush, or more shampoo. There was no way he could lie about how excited he was. He was nearly bouncing up and down in his seat. He couldn't help it. Even if he'd only met Kirkland a short while ago, he felt a strange connection to the wooden man. Not to mention the place where he would be staying was huge.

Arthur had been staring out the window of the living room located near the front entrance waiting for the other to arrive. He'd been entertaining himself by watching the news, something he found himself doing more and more often. Sometimes it even sparked ideas for new stories. He'd been very engulfed in the story he'd been watching. At first the phone call had irritated him, but he had been curious to who it was. No doubt the call had surprised him, and now, instead of being irritated or annoyed with it, he was excited. He'd been alone for years. This was a chance to have some company again. This was a chance to not be alone. He quickly went outside as he saw the car pull up.

The younger got out of the car, deciding not to worry about his things at the time being. He was just happy to see Arthur again. Even though he knew he'd be seeing him again, it was nice to get an earlier visit. He had missed the man. The Englishman seemed to understand him more than anyone he'd met. "Hey!" he exclaimed happily as he walked up to the other, giving him a hug. It might not have been appropriate, considering they'd only talked twice, but everything felt different with Arthur. He felt like he'd known the other for years.

Arthur couldn't help but tense slightly at the hug. He wasn't used to being shown affection anymore, and it was strange to be hugged after so long. Not that it wasn't welcomed... It would just take some time to get used to. "H-Hello," he greeted in return, still slightly uncomfortable. "How are you?" Though he was a little nervous, as this was new to him after so long of going without a friend, he was still smiling.

Alfred pulled away from the hug, his eyes shining brightly. "I'm great-" he began to say, then stopped himself. He figured he at least owed the other an explanation of why he needed somewhere to stay. "Well, I mean, I'm okay. I couldn't keep up on the rent so my roommate had to kick me out..." he murmured, then shook his head. "It's all right, though, because now we can hang out whenever! Thanks for letting me stay at your place."

The Brit nodded. He understood financial trouble. Back before he had moved to the U.S., things had been bad financially. He was lucky he didn't have to eat or drink. "Ah, it's perfectly fine. I told you already that I could use the company," he said, laughing softly. "Why don't you come in? We can get your things later. It's still early, after all," he offered. Really, he was looking forward to simply being with Alfred. Having another person (well, if one could consider Arthur a person himself) there would be nice. He had dogs, but they were more for security than they were pets.

Alfred nodded. "Yeah, that sounds good," he murmured. Honestly, he wanted to do his homework, then take a nap if he had time. He wondered briefly if Arthur wanted any money for rent. He shook the thought off. The man probably had enough money to buy his own island. Though, he'd buy his own food, if only for the sake of not being rude. He still had to finish his homework, but other than that, his day was free. He was genuinely curious about what Arthur had to do around here. Well...the place could sure use a dustrag. Not that it was his place to complain. Not that he would want to, anyway, to be honest. He wasn't exactly the sort of person to care too much about things being a little dirty or dusty.

Arthur led the way inside his manor. It was a wonder that being fake, he could feel this much excitement. He had so many preparations he'd have to make. Clean one of the guest rooms, buy food, and many of the other things that a human would need. Christ. It almost sounded like he was getting a pet. He chuckled to himself at the thought. It wasn't like that at all-he just wanted to make Alfred comfortable. He knew how hard it was to have no place to go. "Would you like something to eat or drink?" he questioned over his shoulder as they reached the kitchen.

Alfred, who had been distracted with the beauty of the house, and was blatantly admiring it, blinked, and focused back on Arthur. He grinned. "I had somethin' to eat before i left, but something to drink sounds nice," he replied. He sat down on one of the bar stools, a childlike look in his eyes. He briefly wondered if the other was as excited about his new living situation as he was.

The Brit nodded, and went to the fridge. He pulled out a can of soda. Coca cola. "...is this all right?" he questioned quickly. "If not, I have plenty of other choices."

Alfred stared at the Coke a minute before laughing to himself. "Dude. Did you get that just for me?" he questioned. After all, he already knew that Arthur barely had guests, and the last time he'd been here, the man hadn't had much along the lines of food or drinks. He felt touched. Grateful. He nodded though. "Yeah, that's cool. Thanks. That was really awesome of you."

If Arthur could have blushed, he would have. Yes, he'd ordered soda for Alfred. He'd actually ordered a lot of beverages and even some food for the next time the lad decided to stop by for a visit. He had about ten different kinds of soda, and even more varieties of juice and alcohol filling his fridge and cabinets. He smiled as the other thanked him, then placed the Coke on the counter and rummaged through his cabinet for a glass. He filled it with ice from his fridge, then slid the glass over to Alfred. "Here you go..." he muttered sheepishly, still a little embarrassed that Alfred had seen right through him. "...and you're welcome," he added before sitting down next to him.

Alfred probably should have been working on his homework. He decided that could wait, though. Arthur was letting him live here. The least the younger could do was spend a little time with him. He wanted to, too. He popped the tab on the can, then poured the soda into the glass. He turned to the wooden man as he waited for the fizz in his drink to go down so he could pour some more in. "So..." he started. "...I've been meaning to ask you: who made you? I mean, I don't know if you know or not, and if not, it's cool, but you're a really cool guy, and machine, and I'm really curious." He poured a little more Coke into his glass so it was full, then took a long sip before looking back at Arthur for the answer.

Arthur was caught off guard by the question to say the least. He blinked, his mouth hanging open slightly. For a moment, he looked like a fish on the end of a hook. That was...kind of a touchy subject for him. He smiled nervously, though. There was no harm in answering, though. Alfred was his new friend...he deserved to know about Arthur's life. With a deep breath, and a small sigh, he started.

"His name was Francis."


	6. Chapter 6

((A couple of you wondered why I was in the hospital. I tried to commit suicide by ODing on muscle relaxers. I'm fine now. Thank you for your concern.))

"His name was Francis. Francis Bonnefoy. I remember when I opened my eyes for the first time. I was confused. It's a little strange looking like a grown man, but being so new to the world. Francis' face was the first thing I saw. He was kind enough to give me knowledge of the world beforehand. I already knew how to speak, and how to act human.

For a while, he wouldn't let me leave the house. He was afraid of anything happening to me. What if it rained? What if someone found out what I was, and broke me apart, trying to find out how I worked, or stole me? He always told me that he was afraid of losing me again. I didn't find out what he meant by that until much later.

He was a very good man. I looked at him like a father figure, or even an elder brother. There are times that I think he might've wanted me to love him more than that. He never pushed the issue, though. He just wanted me to be happy. He considered me real, even if others might not.

I stayed with Francis for about ten years. He was never really in the greatest of health. He was always falling ill. Though he seemed happy most of the time, especially around me, I think he was dying inside. He'd made me to replace someone. I don't think he wanted me to know, but I'm glad I do, even if it does make me feel bad sometimes. It kind of made me feel like I had no other purpose in life. Especially after he died.

About a week before his death, Francis shared with me a story. He told me about his relationship with the /real/ Arthur Kirkland. He'd known Arthur since they were children. Francis had moved to London when he was orphaned at the age of six. I guess they had that sort of joking relationship where they would poke fun at each other a lot, but both of them knew nothing was ever meant by it. At some point, Francis confessed his love to Arthur. He told him that he'd always felt something special between them. Honestly, I wasn't sure if I was capable of feeling what he did. I'm still unsure about that.

Anyway, Arthur admitted to feeling the same way about Francis, and all went well for about a year. They were happy, and their friends and family had accepted their relationship with open arms. I read a few articles online about the first stages of love when I'd found time. It was exactly as Francis had described it-perfect, warm, fuzzy, and romantic. I felt happy for him when he told me he'd been able to feel this way, even though there was a strong possibility that I might never get to share the same happiness. Sometimes I fear that's what killed him-the unrequited love, and the reminder that I was not a real human, or even a substitute for one.

Francis had always blamed himself for his loss of Arthur. Personally, I don't think it was his fault. As long as he was accurately telling the story. I don't doubt that he was, though. He told me that an old girlfriend of his had been harassing him. He didn't want Arthur to worry, so he didn't say anything. He figured he could handle the problem on his own..."

Francis dug his phone out of his pocket as he felt it vibrating from a new text message. He was walking home from the carry out, holding a small bag. It was starting to get dark, but home was only a few blocks away. Arthur had needed a pack of cigarettes, and he'd agreed, rather reluctantly, to go get some for him. The Frenchman believed smoking was a disgusting habit, and he hated feeling like he was kissing an ashtray right after Arthur got done with a cigarette, but the other had agreed to quit as soon as he found out about the promotion at his workplace.

Francis sighed heavily under his breath as he flipped open his phone. He already knew who it was from.

Brandi

hey (: did you get my other texts?

i wanna meet up again! ...;)

you worried about that fag of yours?

who the hell cares?

he isn't smart enough to catch on that you don't really love him ;)

francis?

are you there? :(

answer your fucking phone! :(

Francis held the power button down on his phone, frowning as it turned off. He'd deal with that later, he thought as he pocketed the phone again. Brandi was his ex girlfriend. He would have loved to still be friends with her, but he last time he was with her, she was all over him. He didn't want that. He was loyal to Arthur. One of the reasons he'd broken their relationship off in the first place was because she seemed so possessive.

Besides, he didn't need anything threatening his relationship with Arthur. The Englishman had just moved into his flat, and things were going great. Aside from the smoking, anyway.

Francis' mood lifted a little as he bounded up the steps, knowing that Arthur would probably make him feel a little better. He opened the door, and headed into the kitchen. "I'm back! I have your cancer sticks!" he called out, then set the bag on the kitchen counter. He shrugged off his jacket and went to put it away, going to the living room to get to the closet. Arthur was waiting for him on the couch, with a frown. Francis didn't notice. "They're on the table if you need one right now," he said, lightly, knowing how stressed the Englishman was about his job.

Arthur simply pursed his lips and stood. He walked toward Francis, extending his arm, as if showing the other something. His phone was in his hand. "Do you mind telling me what the /fuck/ this is?" he questioned.

Francis quickly spun around at Arthur's tone. His eyes went wide at the image displayed on the small screen. It was the picture Brandi took when she'd stolen a kiss from him. The picture he hadn't known even existed. His face went white. "I...it's an old picture," he said quickly. How else could he explain it?

Arthur seemed to get more angry with that explanation. "Fucking hell it is! That's the scarf I bought for you two weeks ago!" he yelled. He shook his head. "I should've known something was going on. I'm leaving," he said quickly. He turned around and grabbed a bag from the couch, which looked hastily packed, and headed for the door.

"Arthur!" Francis shouted, quickly going after him. "I'm sorry I lied! Please let me explain, though!" he pleaded. There was a bad feeling in his gut.

The Brit turned around on him. Tears were clouding his eyes. "Fuck you," he almost whispered, then left, slamming the door loudly.

Francis stood there in shock. His mouth was even gaping over. What had Brandi /done!?/ He shook his head, and dug back in his pocket for his cell. He tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for it to turn on.

New Messages

Brandi

francis bonnefoy, if you don't answer me right now, i'm gonna tell your little boy toy that your cheating on him

i have a picture

i'm going to send it francis

fuck you

The Frenchman stood, staring at his phone in disbelief.

"...he tried to call Arthur a lot after that, but it went straight to voicemail for a while. Then, it said that the number had been disconnected. He was depressed for a few years. Like I said, he blamed himself for what happened. He thinks there's things he could've done to prevent it. He was depressed, and out of his pain, he carved something amazing. Me.

...I'm not saying that to be vain... It's just that no one has ever built anything like me before." Arthur sighed. "I cured his depression for a while. Distracted him from it. I don't think that the hole in his heart left by Arthur ever really healed. Eventually, he just lost the will to live.

Sometimes I blame myself. I...just feel like there was more that I could have done..." Arthur swallowed as he finished his story. It wasn't something he'd ever shared with anyone before. Talking about it made the pain fresh again. For so long, he'd just been able to ignore it, and move on with his "life." Now everything was out in the open again.

Alfred didn't really know what to say. It must have been awful to feel like your entire purpose in life was just being a replacement. There was a moment of silence as he thought about what to say. He leaned forward, and hugged Arthur tightly. "This is not your fault," he started, slowly. "I think it's time you learn what someone living for you feels like, for a change," he said with a sniffle as he pulled away. He held onto a lopsided grin, and a look of determination, even with tears shining in his eyes. No matter what, he'd make Arthur feel like more than just some grown man's old toy.


	7. Chapter 7

((This chapter gives a little more insight on Alfred's life, and his past. Ah, and to those of you concerned, I'm all right now. Thank you for your concern. I do really appreciate it.))

A few weeks had gone by since Alfred had moved in with Arthur. Not a lot had really happened after their first conversation. Things were surprisingly...normal. Both of them were enjoying the company more than they'd ever admit to, though.

Just because things were going normally didn't mean that it had been boring. Both of the men had to work regularly, and Alfred had his schoolwork to focus on, but Arthur's schedule was rather flexible. He'd learned to do his writing when Alfred was at work, sleeping, doing schoolwork, or busy for any other reason. He'd actually started something new. (Though, he didn't really like to start new work before he was finished with his other work. This had been an exception.)

They'd gotten into the habit of sitting in the living room, Alfred with a mug of coffee or a soda, and talking for hours. Most of the time, it was general chit-chat, and it usually led into a deeper conversation. The pair never failed to jump, startled when Arthur's grandfather clock sounded through the large house, marking the end of another hour. It was just so easy for Arthur to talk to Alfred. And Alfred to Arthur.

Alfred had been struggling slightly with his emotions, though. It was late one night, after the American had reluctantly ended his conversation with Arthur in order to get some sleep. He began thinking. Arthur was his friend. This thing between them, though...this chemistry...it felt like more than that. The wooden man made Alfred's entire world seem brighter. Everything seemed so much more intense and clear when he was with Arthur. It was like everything made sense in a way it hadn't before. The Englishman gave him a reason to smile. Alfred wasn't sure how to deal with this feeling yet. He was afraid of putting so much of his faith and happiness into one person. Especially when he wasn't sure if Arthur was even capable of returning his feelings. He didn't want to get hurt. He kept it to himself.

Today, the conversation between the two was taking an interesting route. It all started with Arthur saying, "You never told me about your life. You live here, and I just realized that I don't know anything about you." Which was strange, because the Brit felt like he'd known Alfred for his entire life.

Alfred, who hadn't been expecting the question, looked surprised. He went tense, in a nervous sort of way, and his grin faltered. He chuckled anxiously. "Heh. Yeah..." he muttered in reply, then hid behind his mug, taking a long sip of coffee.

There was a long minute of silence before Arthur spoke again, "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he assured softly. "I was only curious."

The American shook his head. "No," he said with a sigh, "it's fine. I was born into a very religious household. My mother died when I was little, and my father married a young woman who I'd only seen a couple of times at church about a year after. We didn't have a lot of money, like you do, but we had things pretty decent. I was doing well in school, I was captain of the football team...My father and stepmother were proud of me. I was even doing well socially.

Things changed when I developed my first crush, though. It was...my best friend who I had a crush on. I guess that woulda been all right if my best friend had been a girl.

For a while, I really hated myself. Homosexuality was a sin, and I was going against God with my impure thoughts. It took me awhile to accept myself for who I was. I found a website online for teens like me. I was eventually convinced that there wasn't anything wrong with me. That I wasn't alone. Even so, I don't want to get hurt, so I kept my sexuality to myself. It's really hard to do that, though. Keeping it a secret made it feel like I was admitting it was wrong.

The first person I decided to tell was my best friend. It took me awhile to work up the courage to do it, but eventually I convinced myself that he'd be my friend no matter what. I mean-we'd been friends since kindergarten.

When I told him, he laughed at first. He thought it was a joke. When I didn't laugh, he stared at me. He eyed me up and down with a look of complete disgust. We were at my house when I told him. He left.

He ignored me at school after that. In the back of my mind, I kinda knew he would react that way. I didn't expect him to tell everyone at school, though. I didn't think he'd betray me. I thought he might have enough sense to remember that I was still the same person.

For weeks after that, school was a living Hell. All my so-called 'friends' ignored me, I got harassed, and I got sent down to the principal's office more than once for doing absolutely nothing. I still don't know how the teachers found out. I was kicked off of the football team soon after.

The worst day, though, occurred on a weekend. I had been listening to music in my room when my father barged in. That alone was strange. He was supposed to have been at the store..."

Alfred jumped as his door suddenly opened. He hadn't even known anyone was home. He turned down the radio as his father walked into the room.

"Take a guess at who I just got finished speaking with," Alfred's father spat out. He looked like he was holding in pure rage.

The teen simply blinked. "...I don't know...?"

"I ran into your coach at the store. He had an interesting question for me. I sure as Hell didn't expect it. 'How could you raise that boy of yours into a homosexual lifestyle?' Is that true, Alfred? Are you gay?"

Alfred looked slightly afraid. He was tired of lying and hiding, though. It was awful for him not to be able to be himself. Especially around his own family. He looked down at his feet. "...yes."

"You're going to Hell, you fuckin' perv! I didn't raise you to be a faggot, damn it! What, you'd rather take some cock up your ass instead of college, and a career? Instead of God?! Sodomy is a sin! It's unnatural! So is homosexuality!"

Alfred was crying. He was trembling, scared of being hit. His father had never yelled at him like this before.

"You'll feel His wrath after you die of AIDs. Until then, I'm not housing a fag. This is my house. Get the fuck out."

Alfred shook his head. "Please...Dad...I'm still your son...I don't have anywhere else to go..."

"No. You aren't my son. I didn't raise my son to be gay. ...and you should have thought of that before you thought about being gay. I said get out. Before I kill you myself."

The teen's eyes went wide. Had his father just threatened to...kill him? His mouth hung open for a moment. "C-Can't I have a few minutes to pack?"

"I said get out. Now."

"...I was out on the street for a few days until I was told of a shelter where they accepted people like me. I had to live there until I finished high school. Luckily, there was only about a month left of my senior year. I was lucky, too, that I'd passed.

I made a friend at the shelter. His name was Matthew. We ended up getting an apartment together near here, I took a training course on shipping, and I started working and going to college part-time. I lived with him for about a year..." Alfred smiled. "Until he kicked me out because I couldn't pay the rent. Which is how I ended up here." He paused. "I guess that I'm glad things happened the way that they did, though. I mean...if it would have been different, I may have never met the coolest dude ever," he said with a small laugh.

Arthur smiled a little, glad that Alfred had taken all those horrible things that had happened so well. He blinked at what was said next, though. "Who is the 'coolest dude ever...?'" he questioned.

Alfred laughed harder at that. "You, of course!"

This time, they both laughed.


	8. Chapter 8

It didn't take long for Alfred to start sleeping in Arthur's bed. His excuse had been to make sure Arthur was actually getting some rest. The American had vowed to himself that he'd never let Arthur's charge run out again. Seeing him like that once had been bad enough.

Regardless of this, nothing changed much. Arthur was still staying up more than he should have been, and he neglected to take care of himself. It was starting to bother Alfred, but he preferred not to push the issue. Arthur seemed stressed enough as it was, though the lad was uncertain of the reason.

Even though Alfred had work (yes, he was still going to work; he didn't like feeling like a freeloader) and school, and Arthur needed to work on his writing, they still made time to spend together. Ever since Alfred had moved in, both his and Arthur's mental state seemed better than normal. The move hadn't fixed everything, of course, but the company definitely made a difference. The two continued talking to each other, and spending time together, and eventually, it became normal, though no less enjoyable.

After a few months, the school year was coming to an end, and Alfred realized that he'd have a lot more time he could spend with Arthur. He was still struggling with his attraction towards the wooden man, but after being around him so often, he'd decided that he loved Arthur. At the moment, he wasn't one hundred percent sure that what he felt was romantic, but he'd decided to do something nice for the man, anyway.

Alfred had already been cleaning around the manor and picking up groceries and other things that Arthur needed, but he wanted to do something more than that. He sat up late one night in bed, thinking about it. It always made him anxious when the other hadn't come to bed yet, but the man had actually been fairly good about it that week, so Alfred figured he could let it slide, and not bother the man about it. His idea, though, was a date.

Just the thought of that made the lad's heart skip a beat, and his mouth turned up at the corners. Tomorrow was Friday…Saturday would be perfect. He had all day to plan something out. He lay back down in the bed and closed his eyes, his lopsided smile still glowing. He would make sure that Saturday went perfectly.

Friday came and went, and before either of them knew it, it was Saturday. Arthur, however, didn't know what the brunette had planned…He did have his suspicions, though. Alfred had pestered him about turning in early the night before, and making sure to get charged up. He'd asked why, but the lad had refused to say anything, even if his smile betrayed him. Arthur hadn't thought too much about it.

It was around eight o'clock Saturday night, about an hour before the sunset. They were sitting on the couch watching television, a habit that Arthur had recently picked up from Alfred, when the calm was interrupted by Alfred suddenly standing.

Arthur blinked in surprise and quickly looked up at the other. "…going somewhere?" he questioned as Alfred began slipping his hoodie on.

"Yup," he replied, sounding more excited than usual. "…'n you're coming with me." He grabbed Arthur's jacket from the closet, and held it out, only to frown as the man shook his head.

"Alfred…You know that I'm not good with people. Or crowds. I'm not going anywhere. There's no need for it." He didn't even stand from the couch.

Alfred sighed. "Come on, Artie," he said, sounding whinier than he'd like to admit. "You just gotta trust me. I won't make you talk to anyone. We aren't goin' anywhere with people, anyway," he insisted. "Hero's honor," he said with a grin, a closed fist against his chest in a type of mock promise.

There was a clear moment of hesitation before Arthur timidly nodded. He slowly stood, allowing Alfred to help him with his jacket. (Though he'd usually insist he could do it just fine on his own.) "Where are we going, then?" he questioned as they began walking towards the front door.

"Ah, ah," Alfred wagged his finger. "Can't tell you. It's a secret. That'd be cheating," he laughed. "You'll like it, though. Promise," he said, patting his pocket to make sure his keys were still there. It would be rather embarrassing if he had to go back into the house to get them.

Arthur couldn't help but smile at the other's playfulness. He rolled his eyes. "Fine."

Neither of them said much more as they got into Alfred's truck, which, for the time being, was fine with both of them. Alfred turned on the radio to a country rock station, knowing that was a genre Arthur was okay with, then set to work focusing on the road ahead of him.

It wasn't a long drive-only about a half hour-but the excitement and anxiety in the car was clear. For Alfred, it clung to his skin like a heavier set of clothing; his nerves making him sweat just a little. His biggest worry was that Arthur would be upset, or wouldn't have a good time. He took a breath to calm himself, hoping the other didn't notice how nervous he really was.

The Brit was too busied with his own worry and excitement to notice Alfred's. His eyes flicked from the windshield to the window, trying to get some hint of where they were going. When they finally arrived, he had to admit, it wasn't at all what he'd been expecting. They'd simply pulled into an empty field.

Alfred parked the way he wanted to, deflating a little when he noticed that Arthur had lost a little of his excitement. He smiled, anyway, and got out, only to run to the other side of the car and open Arthur's door for him.

"I could have gotten it," Arthur complained, almost immediately, but didn't seem upset about it in the least. He hoped out of the truck, and stood, wondering what the Hell they were doing out here.

Alfred didn't say anything as he grabbed Arthur's had and went to the back of the truck. He pulled the tailgate down to reveal a cheap blowup mattress.

The blond still looked incredibly confused. He looked at Alfred for some sort of explanation.

Alfred smiled falsely, then frowned. He looked at his feet, and kicked the grass a little, looking like a child who had just been told "no" for the first time. "I wanted to do somethin' nice for you, 'cause you're really nice, and you're letting me live with you, and you really don't have to…and, well, my plan was to lay out here and watch the sunset, 'n look at the stars and hear the crickets chirp and stuff… 'cause I know you don't like people, and I figured this would be okay…." He trailed off. "'m sorry," he said softly. "It was a dumb idea. We can go home if you want," he ended in a whisper, still not looking at the Englishman.

Arthur stared at Alfred in shocked silence for a few long moments before hugging him tightly. "…this is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me…" he said softly. He pulled back, looking on the verge of tears, if that was possible. "I'd love to do that, Alfred."

The night went well, and they did exactly what Alfred said they would. Arthur hadn't seen the sunset or stars from outside in years, and he enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere of the night. Though Alfred had seen the stars and sunset, and heard crickets plenty of times before, he thought the night was perfect. After a short while in silence, lying on the mattress in the back of his truck, he realized that there was no one he'd rather be with in that moment than Arthur.

Alfred shifted a little to get more comfortable, his face dusting pink as his hand touched Arthur's. In a spur of the moment decision, instead of pulling away, he wrapped his fingers up with the other's, and they ended up holding hands. The wooden man didn't object, though his eyes did widen slightly in surprise.

Unfortunately, a few hours into their "date," they had to head home. It started to rain, and didn't look like it was going to let up anytime soon. Alfred was just glad Arthur didn't suffer any damage, though he was a little bummed about his air mattress. He hoped it would dry all right.

The drive home was considerably more relaxed than the drive there had been, though Arthur asked several times if Alfred knew the way back. After all, the man had been sure Alfred had just driven in circles until he found a place that looked okay. Every time, Alfred insisted he knew how to get back home. After all, he'd scouted out this place the day before, making sure he'd found the perfect spot.

It was late once they'd gotten home, and they immediately headed to the bedroom to sleep. Arthur plugged himself in, and Alfred curled up under the covers. Each was smiling a little to themselves.

Alfred quickly fell asleep, and Arthur laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought. He was interrupted when a crack of thunder shook the house, and Alfred jumped with a small squeak. He blinked, rolling over to face the other.

"Are you all right?" the Englishman questioned softly, not wanting to wake Alfred if he hadn't been up.

"Y-Yeah," Alfred murmured into his pillow, which he was hugging for dear life. He was curled on his side, back facing Arthur. He mumbled something.

"…what was that…?"

"…'mfraidastorms."

"…what…?"

"…don't like storms..." he muttered again, taking the pillow away from his face, and leaving out the word "afraid."

Arthur hesitated for a moment before scooting over and wrapping his arm around Alfred. Thunder shook the house once more.

Alfred jumped.

"It's okay," Arthur murmured softly into the back of the other's neck. "I'm right here and I'm not letting go. It's just a storm; listen to the rain instead," he suggested.

Alfred took his advice and focused more on the rain than the thunder and lighting. It made a pinging sound against the windows, and a pattering sound against the roof and wood of the house. After a while, the repetitiveness made him relax. "Thanks."

The Brit smiled. "Thank _you_. For tonight. It was very nice, even if it did rain. I'm glad we did it."

There was a long silence, and Arthur thought the lad had fallen asleep until he heard in a whisper, almost too quiet to hear over the rain, "I love you."


	9. Chapter 9

The weeks after their date had been rather awkward. That night, Arthur had pretended he hadn't heard what the other said. He wasn't sure how to respond. It made the Englishman question his own feelings. /Did/ he love Alfred? Furthermore, /could/ he? Could something built out of metal, wood, and plastic actually feel emotion? Was he advance enough for that…?

There had been an obvious change around the house. Arthur seemed to avoid Alfred, despite the hurt looks and slumping shoulders he'd end up receiving. Every time he saw the Alfred, he thought about what the lad had said, though. He just didn't want to end up hurting the other.

Their relationship was more strained than it had been, but things soon returned to close to how they had been. The biggest changes were that Arthur no longer stayed with the American in the same bed, and they didn't talk as much.

Alfred was starting to feel hurt and neglected. Even Matthew had given him more attention than this. One night, he decided to do something about it. The excuse Arthur always gave was work, so he decided to sneak into the man's office and see what exactly he'd been working on for the past few weeks.

The task wasn't easy. The only time when the other didn't have a careful eye over everything was when he was charging up. Eventually, Alfred found an opportunity and took it. He was grateful to find that the door was unlocked. So was Arthur's computer.

The American quickly scanned the files, knowing that the other could decide at any moment to get up for something or another. Most of the titles for things seemed typical of fantasy and fairy tale stories. Eventually, he came across one that peaked his interest. It was titled "Emotion."

Alfred read the latest page.

"As I sit here, my last few days ticking by so quickly, I still wonder what it is I'm truly feeling. Or rather, not feeling. I know I'll have to talk to him about this eventually, but…I'm afraid. I suppose afraid is a feeling, though. It's hard to tell what's real anymore, and what's fake. I once thought I was fake. Well, the lad seems to have proved me wrong on that.

Ever since Alfred moved in, I've begun to unconsciously believe that I am a real person, and that I can feel real emotions. I know I'm not real. But does this mean that what I'm 'feeling' isn't, either?

When I think of Francis, I hold admiration, and dare I say it, love, for the man. I feel something similar for Alfred. I don't want to disappoint him if what I believe is wrong, though. I'm scared that if I become sure of myself, then people will get hurt. Because what if I'm wrong? It's as much of a possibility as anything else.

Either way, I have to make my decision soon. As you already know, my existence is coming to an end-"

Alfred stopped reading, his eyes going wide. He rushed into Arthur's bedroom, as if the man might die at any moment. The other seemed to be sleeping, but Alfred shook him.

"Is it true?!" the boy shouted.

Arthur looked startled. "What the Hell are you talking about?" he demanded. He'd been enjoying the peace and quiet when the other burst into the room and started yelling like an idiot.

"Don't play dumb! I read what you wrote. Are you…dying…?" he managed to choke out.

The wooden man's eyes narrowed almost immediately. "Were you in my study?" he demanded. Of course, he already knew the answer, which did not make him happy.

Alfred frowned. "Why the fuck does that matter? Just answer my question," he insisted. Fear was settling in his stomach like a boulder.

Arthur didn't answer for a long moment. He considered lying to the lad. After a minute, he decided that it wouldn't do any good. He would have to tell the other eventually. He sat up with a small sigh, his gaze shifting to his lap. "No. Not really, anyway. Only living things can die, Alfred…But I won't be here for that much longer. I suppose the better term to use would be 'breaking,'" the Englishman explained.

Alfred's mouth opened, as if he was going to say something, then shut. He felt like an idiot when he started to tear up. He sat on the bed before scrubbing at the tears in his eyes. "…why didn't you tell me?" he questioned.

"I…don't know. I was going to tell you. I just wasn't ready to," he replied.

"Well…can't we just fix the problem?" Alfred asked, brightening a little.

Arthur shook his head. "I'm afraid it isn't that simple. It's the main motor in my head, which powers my entire body. It's had a count down on it ever since I was built. Francis told me that no one deserved the Hell of having to live forever, so my 'life' was limited to begin with. The motor will self destruct when my time is up. It will destroy every piece that makes up the inside of my skull-"

"Can't we just replace it?!" the younger nearly shouted.

"No. To even get to it, I'd have to destroy parts of my 'brain.' It wouldn't be possible for me to survive."

"I'll just rebuild you."

"…Alfred…Even if you did manage to 'rebuild' me…it wouldn't be 'me' anymore. I wouldn't have any of my memories, and it would be likely that the 'personality' I hold now would change completely." He paused. "I'm sorry."

Alfred crumpled at hearing that. He let out a quiet sniffle. "This is s-stupid," he said. "It's n-not fair."

Arthur frowned, still not looking at him. "Life isn't fair." He always hated that phrase, but part of the reason he hated it so much was that it was usually true.

The teen took a deep breath in an attempt to relax a little. It helped keep in his tears. "How long do you have?" he asked.

"…two days…"


	10. Chapter 10

((This is NOT the last chapter. There will be one more. I apologize for taking so long.))

Alfred had decided to make the next two days mean something. He was devastated that he was going to lose Arthur, but he'd come to the conclusion that he could grieve after the man was gone.

They didn't do anything special…They rented a few movies, and Alfred called off sick so that he had more time to spend with the other. The next two days were spent cuddling (though, it was a little uncomfortable for Alfred, considering that the other didn't generate any body heat), and watching shows. It was strange how little they talked within those days.

On the night of the second day, they decided to end their movie night early.

"I have until twelve," Arthur stated, his voice almost void of emotion. He hadn't had to face this, or admit to himself what was going to happen. He glanced at the clock on the wall. He had a half hour. Oddly, he felt rather relaxed. He smiled sadly, staring off into space. "It's sad to think that even if there is a God…I won't be going to heaven. Or Hell, for that matter. I'll just…stop existing. That's what scares me the most," he admitted.

Alfred smiled cheerfully, trying to be optimistic. "I'm sure God'll let you go to heaven. You're a good person…and good people always go to heaven. I don't think it matters if you're flesh and blood or wood and metal," he assured the man.

Arthur couldn't help but smile at that. He held Alfred closer. Currently, the boy was in his lap as they both lay on the couch. It wasn't necessarily what the other said that made Arthur believe him. It was more of how he said it…The way the lad was so sure of himself was strangely reassuring.

Twenty nine minutes seemed to pass like a few seconds. They were both sitting up on the couch now. Arthur was rather relaxed, leaning with his back against the couch, while Alfred was tense, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

Arthur made a sound that resembled clearing his throat. "I wrote something for you," he said softly. He dug around in his pocket for a moment before presenting Alfred with a folded up piece of computer paper. He smiled when the other took it.

_Dear Alfred,_

_For a very long time, I've wondered what it feels like to be a real person. I've wondered if it really feels any different. For this time, I was so unsure if I could really feel emotion, or if I was just fooling myself. Even when I lived with Francis, I always struggled with this._

_I'm writing this letter because I want you to understand just how much you mean to me. You've made me come to the conclusion that I can, in fact, feel emotion. In the short time we've known each other you've made me feel happy, sad, angry, jealous, shy, grateful, fear, sympathy, respect, hope, and…love. This list could go on and on._

_For a while, I struggled with this. I was worried that one of us was going to get hurt, but I suppose that in the end, it's always worth it. "It is better to have loved and lost then to have never loved at all," after all._

_You gave me many new experiences, and even, well…a fresh start. You've taught me to enjoy "life," instead of just going through the motions…like a machine. I always thought that was all I was, and could ever be: a contraption. You've made me realize that it doesn't matter what this "life" gives to you; everyone has the potential to make their dreams come true._

_So, I suppose this is a thank you letter._

_I love you, Alfred. Nothing will ever change that._

_Love,_

_Arthur J. Kirkland_

Alfred certainly had not expected the letter. By the time he finished it, he had tears streaming down his cheeks. "I-" He was cut off by the sound of metal grinding against metal. Arthur slumped against him. The American's mouth hung open. "A-Arthur?"

The man was gone, though. His eyes, unusually glassy, even for a machine, stared dully at nothing.


	11. Chapter 11

Alfred wiped the sweat off of his forehead with a small pant. Currently, he was in the large garage of the manor, working on one of his latest projects. In his spare time, he'd taken to fixing up old cars. It tended to keep his mind off of things.

It had been a couple months since Arthur had passed. Alfred had arranged for him to be cremated, and had placed the urn on a shelf in the bedroom. In their first conversation about the man dying, Alfred had promised him that he wouldn't try to rebuild him. He always kept good on his promises.

There had been a private service, though Alfred and a priest were the only ones who attended. Arthur hadn't really known anyone aside from Alfred.

The American wiped the oil from his hands with a rag before taking a moment to sit down. He typically didn't like doing nothing, but he'd been working on the car for the past few hours, and he was exhausted.

Arthur had donated a small chunk of his fortune to charity, while making sure Alfred received the rest. Now the boy knew what it was like to live in the manor alone. He almost felt guilty for not moving in sooner.

After sitting for five minutes or so, Alfred decided it was close enough to lunch time. He headed back inside, showered, and changed. On his way out of the house, he called goodbye to Arthur…a habit he still hadn't broken yet.

The American drove around for a bit. Nothing sounded /great,/ so he decided on IHOP. They had a variety of food, their prices were usually decent, and while he had plenty of money, he always felt guilty for spending any of it.

It wasn't unusual for Alfred to go somewhere to eat. He almost hated being in the manor. It just solidified the fact that one of the few people he cared about was dead. Even so, he was dealing with this better now. The first two weeks, he'd been a wreck.

He yawned and got out of the car.

The wait to be seated wasn't too bad. He asked for a corner booth, grinning when the woman gladly allowed his request. The place was rather empty, though he was appreciative of that. The quiet chatter around him allowed him to relax. It was places like this that he didn't have to think too much.

Alfred's chin rested in his hand, propped up by his elbow on the table as he stared, seemingly bored, at the menu. It always took him a long time to order. There was just so much good food! He smiled a little to himself, wondering what Arthur would think of a place like this.

The waiter was quick to come over for his drink order.

"Welcome to IHOP, my name is Arthur, and I will be your server this afternoon. Would you like to start off with something to drink?" the man questioned in a heavy English accent.

Alfred froze, his eyes wide, and looked up at the man asking for his order. There was no mistaking it; this man was made flesh and blood. Though, as the American stared, he knew that this man was, without a doubt, Arthur Kirkland.

The End

((The last few chapters were pretty short, but I hope you guys liked them. Congrats on finishing the story, and thanks for reading! In case anyone is confused about the ending, this is the original Arthur Kirkland that Francis dated. He's a waiter now. So, yeah.))


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